faderift | open; strike up the tinderbox

WHO: Leander + a cast of thousands
WHAT: various things
WHEN: Wintermarch
WHERE: the Gallows and also not the Gallows
NOTES: none yet

open i;

"Do you like it here?"

A question he's bound to ask more than once, of more than one person, should they share with him the relative quiet of the ramparts or the baths, or the library, or happen to walk alongside him in a staircase or corridor, going the same way. All will be at some late hour, when most are asleep.

open ii;

In the twilight hours he may be found on a path in the Gallows medicinal garden, surrounded by the husks of useful things, frozen reed stalks and little stems curled like match heads, just

staring

like he's seeing through the world and into the space beyond it. Like he's listening to a voice from far away. Across the allotment are some evergreen plants, juniper berries and such things happy to carry on through the unfriendly island winter. Eventually, he walks across to meet them.

open iii;

Or, late some afternoons one may discover him in the stable, leaning on a door in the back in the fashion of a boy, bent with his head resting on his arm while his other hand hangs inside the stall. Murmuring low, either to himself or to the horse inside—the reanimated corpse thereof. No precious paper or wooden sketching slab today, only himself, touching the beast while it appears to doze, grazing the shoulder or neck, curling his hand around an ear and rubbing the dead fur inside.

open iv;

For those who tend, like most, to sleep during the night and conduct their business during the day, it may seem like Leander has abandoned his office, for he's been keeping nocturnal hours for over a month—but now, apropos of nothing made public, that's changed, and things have gone back to normal. Catch him coming after breakfast or going before dinner, unlocking or locking his office door.

It's likely he will try to brush most people off with a bland smile and polite good morning or good night, but should they both happen to be headed in the same direction... or perhaps one might share with him an intentionally well-timed walk to the ferry, to minimize waiting...

open v;

Or chance upon him while he stands there at street's edge, passively observing a two-man brawl outside a tavern not very far from the Kirkwall docks, the participants looking about ready to escalate beyond fists...

etc;

...anything can happen.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

One day, and he's already head down in the aforementioned dirt. That speaks of a fine work ethic; a touch of escapism, perhaps, or meditation; his first answer, a preference for avoiding avoidable company. Weeding out the ones who've nothing to say. Leander himself does the same, only with less grunting.
Usually.

"I've never seen that technique in person before. The crystals."

Henry sniffs and wipes his nose on his sleeve--the cold has a funny way of drying you out and making you drip in all the worst ways, don't it?

Just when it seems he's not going to respond, he fishes out another crystal and holds it out to Leander, gesturing with it in two impatient gestures. Go on, take it, I've got work to do.

"They keep heat," he explains, right back in the dirt, shuffling between each plant on his knees with many a popping, aching joint and fatherly grunt. "Not much, but enough to keep 'em gettin' froze up entirely." And the more he speaks, the more obvious a slight impediment of speech can be heard. A bend in his Rs to make them more like Ws.

"Now, I don't like meddlin' with what the Maker done, but I figure if I can gives 'em a bit of help when it gets rough, there ain't no harm in that. Way I sees it, we get an awful lot of benefit from these lads, so we ought give a little somethin' back."

open; strike up the tinderbox

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